Euphoria
by SuperSonic21
Summary: Sam and Cas exchange presents on xmas morning. Sastiel, 2k. Happy holidays!


**_AN:_** an xmas fic! I know it's a little early, but some people like to get into the swing of things as quickly as possible - as no students will be at uni for xmas, all the students' celebrations started like a week ago where I am.

Based on a prompt from katsuri-san on tumblr: "Sastiel with Cas trying to find a christmas gift for Sam :) pleeeeease!". Merry xmas!

* * *

Though it wasn't the actual date of Christ's birth, there was always something . . . _Sacred_, about Christmas.

Castiel remembered the palpable, almost electric tension in the air: it was the feeling of millions of people's belief suddenly spiking; increasing for the holidays, causing every angel sensitive enough to experience a strange euphoria. The increase in the number of prayers Western Christians said, and the number of atheists who couldn't deny that something beautiful was happening . . . It was always extremely pleasant, and a little awe-inspiring, even for angels.

Of course, the same could be said for any other religious holiday and their respective agents, probably – Castiel didn't know, he'd never asked one. It didn't matter that humans generally had a lot of misconceptions about Christ: that day of the year, and the night before, they could be put aside. It was the faith that counted – religious, or otherwise. Castiel never found himself minding who celebrated, as long as they were good people.

He just knew that the feeling – the frisson from being called upon, and thanked, and burdened under the hopes of millions of people in a terrifyingly beautiful way – was gone, now. Forever.

But looking down at Sam's fluttering eyelashes as he drifted slowly into wakefulness . . . He was completely okay with it.

Sam was sprawled out across the bed, his limbs tangled up in the sheets in a way that reminded Cas of the ancient Greeks, their clothes, and of course, their marble-carved statues. While Sam's skin wasn't pale white, but tanned, he was certainly an Adonis in his own right . . . The ripples of his skin crossed the white sheets like a mountain range, strong and beautiful. It gave Castiel butterflies to even look at him like this.

Then, he moved, tugging the sheets around him, with a small frown. He threw out one arm to Cas' side of the bed, and found it cold. He opened his eyes, and looked around, squinting at the sudden change in brightness.  
"Cas?" He yawned.

"Good morning, Sam. Merry Christmas," Castiel replied, with a simple smile. Sam sat up, and looked at where Cas sat perched on the edge of the bed, wearing a Christmas jumper he'd bought for him while they were in Target once as a joke, holding a package wrapped in newspaper and string he recognised from the odds-and-ends drawn they had in the library. He smiled at the vision of cute incarnate that sat in front of him, and rubbed his eyes.

"Merry Christmas, Cas," He replied, leaning forward to lock lips with the other man, who eagerly responded. It was slow, and sweet – they didn't rush it. After all, it was only Christmas morning once a year. And it was Cas' first Christmas human, Sam thought with a small pit in his stomach that he wished away, not wanting to spoil the moment.

He sat back with a grin, and got out of bed, rummaging around in his bedside draw for a pair of sweats and a shirt. Cas blushed at the sight – it didn't matter how often he gained carnal knowledge of Sam, every time he would so casually walk around like this, so completely beautiful and trusting . . . The butterflies got more intense. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

Sam rooted around in the next draw down, and pulled out a package that, while it was plain dark green, was wrapped very neatly. Cas imagined Sam putting in the effort into that – maybe his mouth would hang open slightly, as it often did when he concentrated – and he smiled.

"You first," Sam told him with another big grin, thrusting the package into Cas' hands and breaking his reverie.

". . . Thank you," Cas told him, staring down at the gift. He wondered if he had ever been given a gift before.

He'd gotten one for Sam, because he'd been out with Dean one day when the older Winchester had mentioned that he was purchasing a bag of salad for his brother as a gag-gift (a gift, he explained, that wasn't a proper gift but an attempt at humour). Castiel didn't understand why that would be funny – Sam was, generally, quite partial to salad. It would be well received, surely?

But then Dean had asked what he was going to get Sam, and he had been completely focussed on deciding what he would get Sam. He had a lack of money, which had been an issue. Another issue was deciding what Sam would like that he didn't already have.

So, he'd set to work.

"You have to unwrap it," Sam prompted him jokingly. As he did so with a smile, Cas thought to himself about when Sam had gone out the other day, and Dean had suddenly brought out a few rolls of multi-coloured paper and began enveloping his gifts for Charlie and Kevin in it, he had completely forgotten the human custom of wrapping gifts before presenting them to the receiver. It just seemed . . . Superfluous.

But, as he carefully unwrapped the gift in front on him, understanding hit him like a bolt of lightning: it was exciting. Unwrapping a gift, not knowing what it is, the anticipation – it was very fun, in reality. His smile grew larger, before he'd even seen what the gift was.

"What?" Sam asked cautiously.  
"Your human customs . . . They never cease to disappoint, now that I'm one of you,"

Sam's smile faltered, and grew small, but he didn't reply.

Castiel moved the paper aside, to reveal a leather cover – a book?

No . . . A journal. Similar to the one Sam had started a few months back, but dark blue rather than brown.

"You've given me a journal," He stated plainly in a quiet voice, his eyes wide.  
"Yeah. I hope you like it – I was in two minds about it, you know, the blue leather over the brown, but the dark blue seemed-"  
"You and Dean have journals,"  
". . . Yeah, and now so do you," Sam replied simply. Cas finally looked up at him and swallowed.

". . . I don't know what to say," He stated, feeling a strange feeling creep up inside his chest, and up into his throat. It felt like emotion had formed a physical bolus; a mass of feeling, creeping into his voice.  
"Say you like it!" Sam laughed, though he understood the underlying meaning behind Cas' words.

_You and Dean have journals_._ Dean your father's, you your own. _

_Journals are for hunters. _

_Journals are for Winchesters. _

"I – I do," Cas replied, choking slightly and looking down at the journal again.  
"Hey," Sam murmured, leaning forward from where he was perched on the bed to grip Cas' wrist in a display of affection.  
"You _are _one of us. I mean . . . I know this is your first Christmas without-" He trailed off, before starting again: "I just wanted to let you know, I know what you're feeling. I know how it feels to be cast out and alone . . . And I just wanted you to know, you're always welcome here, with us. We can be your family, now . . . If you want,"

"You . . . Want me to be your family?" Cas asked, frowning a little.  
"Uh – maybe not in a 'matching rings' way just yet," Sam laughed, sliding his hand up to Cas' shoulder to squeeze it. "But, yeah – in every way that counts, you're one of us. You always will be. And besides – the listed home address in there is the bunker, so you know," He added, as a joke.

"This is . . . You're . . . Thank you," Cas fumbled for words, so just acted on impulse: he threw his arms around Sam, who, though surprised, returned it gratefully. Cas held on tightly for a few minutes, at least.

As he pulled away, Sam told Cas: "I filled in a little basic lore already in there – but if you wanna have a look at my journal, or Dad's – you're welcome to them,"

Cas nodded eagerly, flipping through the pages. Sure enough, Sam had left small notes here and there, of varying degrees of seriousness. But the bare essentials were all there, and it warmed Castiel's heart.

He shut the book almost reluctantly, laying it aside with great care, as if it were fragile. He picked up his gift to Sam.

"I . . . I'm not sure how to preface this present," He admitted, scratching the back of his head and frowning. Sam raised his eyebrows.  
"That sounds . . . Interesting," He replied warily.

"I knew you would prefer something functional – something that you didn't already have, but-" He bit his lip. Sam took the package from his hands, and noticed that they were shaking slightly.  
"Whoa – don't be afraid," He told Cas gently.  
"I'm – a little apprehensive. I've never done this before. I'm not sure it's good enough," He muttered.  
"You didn't have to get me anything, Cas," Sam replied reassuringly. Cas nodded, though he was adamant that he would never neglect to buy gifts for Sam's birthday, or Christmas. Ever.

Sam removed the string, and the paper fell away with little coercion. Inside was another book – a ring-bound book, filled with lined paper that had already been written.

On the front was a stuck-on label reading, 'Enochian to English Translation Manual'.  
"I'm sorry," Cas blurted, upon seeing Sam's mouth hanging open. "I-"  
"No _way_," Sam said, in awe. He flipped through the book, taking note of the section at the front that explained Enochian grammar; noting the dividers for each letter of the alphabet; heart swelling with joy when he realised all of it – every single word – was hand-written in Cas' endearingly, painstakingly neat handwriting.

"I'm-"  
"Cas – this is amazing – do you realise how much time this is gonna save us?!" Sam enthused, taking Cas excitedly by the shoulders and grinning widely.  
". . . You like it?" Cas ventured sheepishly. "I thought maybe you could use it to translate, even when I'm not there – it's not fully comprehensive, but I can do some more books in the future, maybe . . ."  
"I can't believe how much effort you put into this – it's-" Lost for words, he settled instead for launching himself at Cas, who toppled onto his back on the bed. Sam crawled on top of him, kissing him sweetly. Cas kissed back, enjoying the fact that a book – let alone a book that he had written – had caused Sam to be _this happy_.

After a good few minutes of lazy kissing, Sam pulled away, hair hanging in Cas' face as he looked down at his former-angel.  
"Look at us. Books for Christmas. Dean's right – we are nerds," He chuckled. Cas tucked his hair behind his ear affectionately; Sam shut his eyes, and let him.

"Will your brother be up soon?" Cas asked hesitantly.  
"No – he likes to get as much sleep as possible on Christmas morning. Says it's his only day off," Sam replied opening his eyes again, and looking as if he didn't have a care in the world.  
"Good – because, well, I have heard about _one _other tradition humans usually participate in on Christmas day that I would like to participate in,"  
"What do you – _oh_," Sam caught on, with a smile, and leant back in to kiss Castiel.

Castiel didn't mind that he couldn't hear the prayers of the world's faithful, or feel their hopes and wishes; because the feeling he had when he was right there, on the bed with Sam Winchester and two books they had exchanged in love for one another, he was experiencing something a much, much better.


End file.
